This, That, and the Other

Return of the Blog

2010-03-15T13:40:00.000-07:00

I guess I've let too much time slip by - I need to post something! What are my thoughts? I just watched the movie, "Precious." Powerful, gritty, all to human and all too real. It makes me want to share my life; affirm what I see in others.

Return of the Blog

2009-12-26T07:01:00.000-08:00

It's not that I don't have opinions and passions, I just have so many running through the cranium at any one time I get perplexed about which urgency to pursue - more is coming in 2010, I can assure you. . . .

Thoughts from A Noticer

2009-06-01T13:39:00.000-07:00

Yes, a noticer. . .and that is a person who notices - things, people, situations, and perspectives that others seem to miss. That's the premise behind Andy Andrew's book of the same name, The Noticer. I guess there are things that I could have and should have noticed a little sooner and maybe a little more often to boot. Didn't do it; I allowed experience, my own and no one else's, dictate what could have and should have been noticed. I sacrificed three friendly relationships in the process and considering the logistics of all this stuff, "sacrificed" is where all of this is going to stay.

One of the points this book makes is that life offers opportunities and encourgements. You only have encouragements as the opportunity presents itself, Andrews points out eloquently, and for that to happen, you have to be the kind of person that other people want to be around. I'm usually that person without any difficulty, but here awhile back I got into that (I thought) infrequent disagreeable mode where I acted and spoke before thinking. I know, other people do it all the time, but I am not other people, and I have to account for what I, not other folks, do. And this time I screwed the process up royally.

I think of what I lost a lot. Three people (and more pehaps) that know one side of me, a disagreeable and inhospitable side that no one should ever have to know or endure. I'm truly sorry for it and Self tells me that this whole affair backfired and left me with the noose around my neck, and everyone within a few mile radius heading for the hills. I've only myself to blame.

All hope is not lost. I can and will pick myself up from personal disappointment and move ahead. I have vowed no one ever need see this side of me again. Hopefully they won't.

Conversations on the 5:04

2008-10-19T09:21:00.000-07:00

The guy who sat next to me last Friday afternoon on the 5:04 out of Ogilvie Transportation Center in Chicago works downtown, has a family, enjoys a tall can of beer on the way home , and is a great conversationalist. In this year's talk of campaign promises, partisan politics, and the the attendant nastiness, we chatted for more than an hour as the train rushed through the western suburbs (first stop is Wheaton) and I can't tell you whether he's more inclined to vote Republican or Democrat. Truth to tell, it doesn't really matter. Politics gets to be that special topic of conversation that people turn to when table talk gets rancid. I'm sure had we pursued some conversational avenue long enough one of us would have taken exception to a point made. If we were lesser gentlemen, we could've gotten into the political row and walked away from a potential friendship angry because the other guy doesn't see and interpret things the same way. Something tells me we got way past that point. We connected on a much more important level by minimizing the peripheral issues and talking about life beyond them.

We both enjoy jazz legend Pat Metheny. I'll recommend one of his newest albums, "The Way Up," only after you give a listen to "Letter From Home," or "Still Life Talking." I recommend the DVD release over the audio CD performance; it just seems to have more of a hook. It may be the visual stimulation, perhaps the performances are slightly different.

I guess the thing that really connected us is the desire to have personal and family priorities in order, recognizing that life isn't all about accumulating a lot of stuff, but having things reasonably right on the home front. Lest anyone think that because we work on priorities is making us perfect, think again. I've been married a little over 35 years, my talkative and transparent traveling companion only since 2007. We're both working on ourselves and on our relationships and we've got a long way to go. But we're moving in a positive direction.

We reach his stop, he's up from his seat, down the stairs, out the door and disappears into the early evening light. We've exchanged email addresses and will stay in touch. It's been quite a day and conversation.

Where would I be without the 5:04 westbound?

After Summer Reading Thoughts

2008-10-02T07:30:00.000-07:00

So here I sit this morning, hashing and re-hashing the contents of my mind, poised somewhat differently than six months ago.

Summer reading, for some people a cornucopia of new and not so new novels, celebrity bios, and sundry stuff, has taken its toll on my conscience and perspective. I feel like some things have come together; that I've had time to re-think some rather heartfelt, if not totally well thought out, views.

The books: the afore referenced "Nixonland." The second, "They Marched Into Sunlight," by David Marannis, Vincent Bugliosi's "The Prosecution of George W. Bush for Murder," and lastly, "In Retrospect: The Tragedy and Lessons of Vietnam," by former Defense Secretary Robert McNamara.

The first was eye-opening and enlarged on some general history - it's indispensable and I highly recommend it. Not a history buff? Learn how to be one via this massive volume. Have any passion about the day and time you live in? Maybe through this book you'll see that what goes around comes around, there is nothing really new under the sun, and those that don't remember history are condemned to repeat it, and that passion kindled may require a shifting of priorities. Yes, your iPod Nano is very cool; the blackberry indispensable for communication, but your brothers, cousins, loved ones, neighbors, and former playmates from down the street are dying in a war several thousand miles away. I heard a variation of that last sentence 40 years ago.

"They Marched Into Sunlight," will tear your heart in pieces; the suffering of the 1967 C-Packet guys deployed to South Vietnam nothing but wretching. In a quick instant they were gone in a Viet Cong ambush, their parents and families never quite the same afterward as evidenced by the mother of one dead solider who never again celebrated a holiday or observed a birthday. Another's children were raised only knowing their father as a hero in a book or by those who served with him. For the moment, the morality or immorality of the War doesn't matter. If Vietnam was a hideous and horrible error in judgment, it was played out on the ground by a bunch of guys who were doing their duty regardless of the cost or their respective political viewpoint. The men in foxholes didn't have time to debate intelligence estimates, they were fighting for their lives. 58,191 total were lost to the conflict.

That same October, in Madison, Wisconsin, student demonstrations against the Dow Chemical Company's recruitment program were in high gear, and with them the ascendancy of Paul Soglin from demonstrator to mayor of Madison six years later. Spoiled, wealthy kids who were anxious to set the university's academic atmosphere on its heels? Hardly. These young people were showing passion with the same intensity and vision as the C-Packet brigade in Vietnam. I like to think that both sides were fighting, more or less, for the same thing.

These separate accounts have moved me in many ways, some of them very hard to describe. Perhaps one of those movements has been one to empathy - putting myself in the place of both camps - the jungle fighter, the street fighter, what they believe in, why they believe, and what both are willing to sacrifice in pursuit of those beliefs.

Read the book; think about it, discuss it with others who have read it, and parallel its message to more contemporary times and conflicts. What have we learned in forty years? What have we discovered about passion and a well thought-out modus operandi to bring passions and visions to something tangible, that will make our lives and the world better?

Vincent Bugliosi ("Helter Skelter") offers that President George W. Bush should be tried for the murder of over 4,000 American lives lost in Iraq in the New York Times bestseller, "The Prosecution of George W. Bush for Murder." A compelling and page-turning read, this book focuses on the enormity of poor decisions, outright deception, and the tragic aftermath of the war games being played in the Middle East. If there is any passion (there's that word again) in today's world of journalism, you'll find it here; agree, disagree, whatever. He makes an earnest case.

"In Retrospect: The Tragedy and Lessons of Vietnam," Robert McNamara discusses our involvement in Vietnam from the days of military advisers sent to the country in the early 1960s to his resignation in 1968 after arriving at a stalemate with the administration, LBJ in particular, over the war's progress - or the lack of it - and what continued involvement would cost the United States in economic, political, and most of all, human terms.

Facts, opinions; could've, should've, would've. . . .

Now, how has it all affected me?

I guess I've learned again what grace is all about. It's not that I feel less passionate about what happened and what I think was the best course of action, feelings that were shared by many of my generation, but what to do with that passion now. Ther's enough blame to go around and most have now historically claimed their share of it. Pointing fingers of accusation do little good at this point and certainly aren't going to fashion a new outcome to a war 35 years afterward. Many of the principals have vanished from the scene, the jungles of Vietnam are quiet, snakes slither through the grass, and the heat and humidity are still as much a part of the region as it ever was. It virtually knocked you down, said returning veterans. The warriors have come home except for those still missing in action. We're paying for the war in many ways, but not to belabor that point, it's a given and we're all to familiar with that fact.

The times and the situations were not fair, and the phrase, although true, resounds four decades after weapons have been laid down: poor men's sons fought a rich man's war. But, I guess I've learned that fairness is not part of a fallen world. The people involved made decisions, some bad, some good, and many indifferent. Fairness and maturity demand me to cut some slack to those persons because I cannot imagine what they went endured, but I can grieve with them.

I've mellowed, I've grown, and have found an almost new sense of compassion. What's happened is not the fault of one individual, but of many people. From here on, it's up to me to be an entity of healing, and not division, to understand and empathize, not judge. I'm thinking this was a summer of personal renewal in some ways, where grace again found its way to my heart, a heart that had pretty much made its made up that my way of thinking was the way it really was.

Random Thought

2008-08-09T07:06:00.000-07:00

This has been an interesting week - during a storm our walnut tree in the middle of the back yard, came crashing down. Two days later, Brett Favre signs with the New York Jets. Is this just a coincidence, or is Christ about to return?

God Bless Green Bay. . .

Blind Faith

2008-08-08T13:14:00.001-07:00

No, I'm not talking spirituality, but a great album from 1969 - yes, that's right, 30 years ago - three decades in other words. The group had one album titled, "Blind Faith." Is that original or what? Group members: Eric Clapton, Steve Winwood, Rick Grech, and Ginger Baker. Best tracks: all of them. Listen to this one loud, very loud; it's a 35 minute time machine. The first time I ever laid eyes on this recording it was laying on the dashboard of a 1969 AMC Rambler American SC/Rambler that had a 390 V8 and a Hurst T-handle shifter. Sweet stuff. The format was 8-track stereo and the player was a factory install. How much better can things get?

The Rant Goes On

2008-07-30T12:42:00.000-07:00

I'm usung a lighter shade of green this post - while I'm a creature of habit, routine gets tiresome and troublesome.

A few random thoughts:

Kids today have IPods, Blackberries, cell phones, instant messaging and access to the world wide web at their fingertips. They can store more music on a MP3 player than I had in my vinyl collection back in the day. They drive cars that are so computer-oriented, changing the oil at home is almost impossible. The day of the shade tree mechanic is done and past. We're quick and convenient, but we're missing something - take a look at my blog of January 19 - I cited the need for us Baby Boomers to come to terms with the fact that we really needed a plan of action several decades ago. We had a vision but needed something to make the transition to viable plan. I guess that's where the young and not-so-passioned have the edge on my generation - they're thinking things through and perhaps formulating something we didn't. You'll never change my opinion, though, that we had the best music.

Listening today: Disc One, "Those Were the Days," by Cream

Trees

2008-07-29T07:36:00.000-07:00

Steve should first cut the trees and then read the book. . .

Nixonland - At Page 444

2008-07-29T07:06:00.000-07:00

Rick Perlstein's "Nixonland" is a telling of the tumultous 1960s through a relatively new and witty voice. This is my first Pearlstein read, and I'm sure more will follow - this is a writer to listen to and hear from. About the only follow up work I could recommend would take you back more than a decade; "In Rerospect, " by former Defense Secretary Robert McNamara, published in 1995. Pearlstein wasn't around to live these scenarios first hand, but his research makes all of us who did rethink the whole process, what we were thinking at the time, (if we were thinking at all) and where some our passions were. It was far too many for many of us, myself included, to carry a sign and say we were against the War and champion the rebelliousness of the era, much more to actually get out and show colors of involvement.

I was hearing a message from the music I listened to: Jefferson Airplane, Buffalo Springfield, Cream, Blind Faith, The Beatles, Stones, and the Doors. I could smell a classic a mile away. I knew Crosy, Stills, Nash, and Young's "Deja Vu" was going to be a long remembered album, it would be pivotal to understanding the decade, but that was about all I was hearing. Other than disseminating views on the then-current rock and roll scene I considered the 1960s a stretch of paranoic fears and mistrusts that would compel me further and further into myself. I disrusted and feared people and kept to myself. It took me years to become vulnerable and I look back on that ten years as the worst of my life.

"Nixonland" at page 444 is more than compelling, more than historic, more than just another backward glance. It shows how the cult of Nixon grew up around the events of the times. Perlstein is compassionate but irrascibly and incisively charming. He tosses in tinges of humor. No one interested in this time period should miss it. I even told my neighbor, Steve, who has made a commitment to cut the trees and brush along the fence line, that if he would read Nixonland, I'd buy him a copy. He has contended for some months now that he is the greatest element to come out of the 1960s. I just want him to see what kind of world he was born in to.

Nixonland at page 444 surpasses what I thought it would be. Put down the Koontz, King, and McBain novels and crack this book and see why.

Updated Blog

2008-07-22T08:59:00.000-07:00

This is a blog update. . .this morning I had Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal for breakfast, a slice of whole wheat toast with Great Value (read Wal-Mart) grape jelly on it. . .I then went for a walk and listened to a collection of 50s oldies I compiled on my Sansa player. . .then I came home and did some writing, continued reading "Nixonland" (Rick Pearlstein) and here I am updating this blog especially for my over-the-fence neighbor who is promising to cut the trees along the fence line.

Bryan Comes Home

2008-06-28T07:53:00.000-07:00

Bryan may not be my blood line nephew, but in his case that doesn't matter.

He's one of my favorite nephews and seeing him last weekend at our community's Relay For Life event impressed me that regardless of what comes and goes in life, people are most important. It's important to walk an abandoned high school track with Bryan, to share hugs, hopes, dreams, frustrations, and our combined creativity together.

Last weekend found us both wondering about the arrival of the Muse. Creativity and passion, where for art thou? What are we not seeing or sensing?

Seeing Bryan made me realize just how close the Muse was; it tapped me on the shoulder and said he had arrived in the person of Bryan. Go forth, writer, fire up Windows XP and speak.

Isn't that just like life, we wonder where the best is and find it standing next to you?

Recuperating - Later

2008-06-20T13:38:00.000-07:00

No one has any idea how good it feels to be able to function again after a nasty fall (see my earlier blog). Walking, moving, functioning. . .if the process of injury is sometimes mysterious, the ongoing process of healing is truly unimaginable.

Recuperating

2008-06-14T07:43:00.000-07:00

I guess it's a good idea for me to remember that I am no longer a teenager, or for that matter, a very young man. I am middle-aged Baby Boomer who on Memorial Day took boomed about 15 feet down a slope on a hiking trail. That was three weeks ago. Today, I am feeling better, although I have some distance to go before I can really say I'm back to whateve my old self was.
Falling down in the presence of others is an unintentional act of humility. It teaches you lessons you'd likely not learn otherwise.

First, you're reminded that anything can happen at any time, at any place, and it doesn't matter who you're around. If you fall and rip the seat out of your pants, it's another likely that whoever's around can go tell whoever might be listening that someone took a tumble, ripped the seat of their pants wide open and wonder of wonders, was wearing sky blue underwear. This is not a good first impression and explanations are unnecessary and pointless. It's just going to make matters that much worse. For the record, I was not wearing sky blue underwear.

Second, you're going to find that one minute you can be in the best of health and strength, the next, you're being helped along the path by a strong shoulder. I had to do the dependency bit and didn't really like it. I like my independence and hate to have to rely on someone to do stuff that I should be able to do, like walk, for instance. Spontaneous things happen, but I'd rather not enjoy this kind of suddenness.

Third, it's a control issue. When you're nursing yourself back to health, it takes time - sometimes, more than less. That's not the way we like it, and I'm no exception. If someone is going to be in the driver's seat, I want it to be me. Healing involves out of conrol issues.

Fourth, it's a reminder that life happens. It happens at work, at home, and on hiking paths.

That having been said, it's just good to feel good again - I've walked the local bike path and streets here in town for about five miles over the last two or three days. I know that joints and egos are mending, one day at a time. Rather than continue here, I think I'll head outside where there's sun, fresh air, and a beautiful summer day on tap.

Want to go hiking?

Chicago: Rambling Thoughts

2008-05-02T13:55:00.001-07:00

The City in Pages, originally uploaded by mlchunko.

Top title to bottom, these are great books about a great city. And let me add one, it's a story and remembrance book for kids about Chicago called, "Good Night Chicago." I'll not ruin the narrative for you or your kids or grandkids. The entire tip o' the hat will take you less than five minutes to read. When reading to the little ones, tell them about the buildings. Better yet, take them there, then get the book. It will mean more.

I don't know that anyone captures the essence of the Windy City like Studs Terkel, one of the most iconic of the city's writers. He talks up people on the street, in a neighborhood bar (are there any left?), under an El station, in the hall outside a TV studio, no matter. He lets people speak their minds, their souls, their ambitions, hopes, dreams, good times, bad times, and sundry moments in between. "Chicago" (Pantheon Books, 1986) although now out of print is a warm and engaging essay of people, places, things, times past and present in just enough pages that an ambitious reader can almost savor it in an evening. It's enchanced with black and white images that enable you to see past the high gloss color of post cards from the gift shop in the Sears Tower to the real essence of the city set on a lake - people as they are doing what they do the very best at - being themselves (poet Gwendolyn Brooks, included in the text, comes to mind here).

This blog did not start out as a book review, but since we're a few paragraphs into cyber entry, I'll just continue this affirmative rant. As for the remainder of the titles, I suggest each of them. Cameron and Antonio Attini's photojournals are found in the bargain section of big book shops. And lest I forget another Terkel tome, "Division Street; America," ( the pictured copy is signed) is a forerunner to "Chicago," without the photos. Let your mind do the photos.

So what is it about this city that has kept me enthralled ever since I was a little kid, the kid whose first real image of the skyscrapers along the river was in the late 1950s when I stepped off a train at the Chicago and North Western depot (now Ogilvie Transportation Center), walked through the Daily News Building, exited revolving doors, looked up and saw the Kemper Insurance Building towering far far above me? It has been outdistanced so many times in the intervening years as to make it seem a dwarf by comparison.

There matters stood until Bertrand Goldberg's Marina City began to take shape along the north side of the river in the early 1960s. I first saw the completed circular towers from the Chicago Historical Society in 1965 when our seventh grade class went on a field trip there. I have never tied of seeing it, and a visit to the loop always includes a walk through the lobby. I know some nice folks who live there. One sells real estate in the building and another is a photographer. He's professional with the shutter, I am a non-professional enthusiast which means that I basically point, shoot, edit, and post. But he has given my work some kudos and has told me that some of my images could be sold commercially. He also posted a rather ungratifying photo of me (I was 16 years old at the time) on a Marina City website (I contributed some archival photos) that was part of a roll that came very near toppling from a 57th floor apartment balcony in 1969, back in the day when the roof was an observation deck and the Sears Tower was a gleam in the eyes over at Skidmore, Owings, and Merrill, Architects. The Hancock was a steel skeleton about that time, if memory serves correctly, and the best after dark light show was beamed from the roof of Marina City's west tower via two television antennas that had a lot of fancy gadgetry to make them do everything but drop the balls in Bozo the TV clown's buckets. They were ripped from their moorings in 1978. Oh well, the Hancock Crown of Light that encircles the top of the skyscraper is OK, and they change the light scheme according to the holiday season, but the big drawback is that birds are attacted to the light, crash into the glass at cruising speed, and hurl to the pavement below. Not a pretty sight to go to work on a Monday morning to see the rotting remains of the city's feathered friend population under foot.

The city is the nice guys who live in Marina City that I'm acquainted with as well as the people on the street who are helpful when I need to find the right bus, a store, or who have time to bodinage with me waiting for the light to get green at State and Madison. They're the sales clerks at Macy's (OK, Marshall Field and Co.) who don't mind me taking photos, the guy on the train last summer who has kept in contact after he started grad school at Notre Dame, and even the wait staff comedian at Ed Debevic's that dumped a tray of glasses (I thought they were full) in my lap a couple years ago.

No, I'm not sure what charms this city holds that keep me returning there, loving every minute, and finding adventure at every turn. I've quit trying to figure it out. Sinatra was right: it's my kind of town.

Lessons From a Lincoln

2008-04-25T05:39:00.001-07:00

Continental Town Car, originally uploaded by mlchunko.

This Lincoln Continental Town Car sits on the back of Bob's farm yard, behind a fairly new Chevy truck with dualies and big mud flaps, about two and a half miles from town. It's just sitting there, a reminder that it once was new and though still in decent shape, hasn't had a road under it for awhile. At one time this car either sat in a showroom or on a lot where someone spotted it and decided to drive it home. Its journey from that point to this would be an interesting tale, I'm sure. Sort of like life - how did we get from our starting place to where we are now? The next important question is whether or not we would have altered courses along the way. At this point in my life, I'm rather content with who I am and where life finds me. Things could be better, but things could be worse. I'm blessed with family, friends, and flickr contacts.

Blessing with contentment - quite a life lesson from a Lincoln out back of the barn, I would say.

Moving On

2008-04-19T06:19:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in a stack of miscellaneous 45s around here (more likely on a CD compilation) is a rather corny country song about a guy who after being love torn and left alone, decides it's time to declare his independence: "I"m Movin' On."

In a culture that talks personal crises to death, this simple affirmation of what's what may be the best antiode to date.

I'm all for breaking down and unpacking the past, provided we don't pack the whole mess up again and head out the door with it later on, but think about it: here is one guy that decides enough is enough and things are going to change. Good for him, good for me. If he's moving on, then so am I.

Clarification: I'm not leaving my wife. She's been the best thing that ever came my way and she's an ever-present God moment that sustains me, keeps me focused, and lends more than just a little perspective to my world. Where I would be without her is up for grabs. Actually, I'd rather not speculate.

In my life, however, like most everyone else's, have been people. People I've been thankful for, that I've learned from, and some that I wish would have brought more constructive things to my existence. Although I usually look for the best in people, I don't always get it. Welcome to reality. What we want, what we get, are two different things.

I've had to learn to forgive myself, forgive others, and very simply refuse to be mired in what has come my way. I have had to make conscientious decisions to get with the future, deal with the past, and move ahead. The Apostle Paul had this very same vexing in the New Testament, but refused to remain stagnant. "I'm forgetting what's behind and pressing ahead. There are more important things to deal with," he said in essence.

I've made the decision to deal with past hurts, frustrations, upsets, and the people, myself included, that bring them about, and think ahead. I'm forgiving, forgetting; releasing those people and myself from the bondage they've created, and working some new ground.

It's time to grow.

Boys and Trains

2008-04-18T07:03:00.001-07:00

Boys and Trains, originally uploaded by mlchunko.

Little guys and their Grandmas, big guys and their video recorders; the common denominator? A train - loud, smoky, reeking of diesel fuel. . .I love it - so do they - it seems to be the tie that binds the ages together. How does it happen? I've quit guessing. Maybe it's just part of the magic of life.

Tagz

2008-03-31T07:26:00.000-07:00

I wonder why it took Hanes and whoever else so long to figure out that the tags they were using on their underwear and tee shirts were factoring in additonal costs that had to be absorbed by the consumer? In the last few years the trend is for stamped on tags that do not wash out over time, but like their sewed-on counterparts, still fade. I wonder how much of a cost savings is realized with this move?

Love Is Blind?

2008-03-31T07:23:00.000-07:00

The singer said he only had eyes for her. . .could that mean that love makes one blind to anyone else or to everything in general?

The Portable Atheist

2008-03-17T11:25:00.000-07:00

By now we have established that Christopher Hitchens does not believe in God. Okay, so big deal, like that's going to change the mind of most of us in the faith community. But at least it's worth our while to hear not only Hitchen but the rest of those in the "unfaith" sector speak their minds. I like his phrase "free market of ideas," (Introduction, "The Portable Atheist") which this book contributes to. This is a book that is considered "essential reading for the Unbeliever." I don't think it would hurt any of us, inside, outside, on the edges, whatever, to read this volume through and think about it. It's not exactly a summer afternoon read, but a chapter here, another chapter later on down the road, could be a challenge for us of the community of faith who seem to think we have all the i's dotted and the t's crossed.

On Leaving the Pentecostal Church

2008-03-09T09:15:00.000-07:00

I have toyed with this topic for a number of months, years, actually.

I've thought and thought again about what to say, how to say it, when and where, and if it should be said at all. But, since I harp on this from time to time to close friends and close Christian friends in particular, maybe that time of setting words on the screen has at last come.

My wife and I and then-young family left the traditional, pentecostal church in January of 1988. It's not that we felt there were no good people there, or that we thought better of ourselves than the rest of the church, it was just time to go, to get away from the "safety" (as the pastor at the time said) of life at 222 1st Avenue in our home town. Google it if you're curious enough about where "our home town" is, and let me know if you get a hit.

We were tired of banal traditions that had been brought in the back of someone's grandmother's 1949 Ford coupe when they relocated here from wherever it is in Arkansas they lived. We were tired of a clothes line mentality that constantly carped on women wearing jewelry, slacks, and makeup. It seemed to me both now and then that there were far more urgent things to talk about in the church; discipleship, personal growth, developing the faith that could make us a more interactive entity with the community. Those things weren't the hot button issues, though. We majored in minors. There were Sunday night services that borderlined on the fanatical. This included, but wasn't restricted to, a Holy Huddle of the church's "holiness" women who would gather at times in a circle near the front, determine fields of opportunity, and then line up on the 40 yard-line of devil-busting and go to work. Certain individuals were "rebuked;" I was present in one service where an elderly woman was virtually told to sit down and be quiet during a "message" from the Lord. Another woman started at the back of the sanctuary and started stamping her feet, screaming, waving a dismissing hand over several couples seated there. They were being dissed, you know; God showing His displeasure by sending these emmisaries to shoo them away. These things happened under the very nose of a pastor, who recieved a check each week for his pastoral duties. I guess maintaining a spirit of balance and mdoeration and seemliness during Sunday services didn't fall into that category. From where I sat, he was a spectator in a theater of spiritual gladiators. These were among the most pathetic scenes I have ever witnessed as a believer and follower of Christ, and make the suitcoat waving antics of shyster Benny Hinn pale by comparison. Why none of the men in this congregation didn't rise to quell this quasi-religious rebellion and three-ring circus is beyond me. Maybe we felt outnumbered by the female quarterbacks

This was a church that wasn't interested in dialogue with non-Christians. They were interested in their own "spiritual" agendas, of coming to church with the view not of learning the fundamentals of the faith, but generating an exclusionary religious mindset. In the time simnce my family left, other families have left the church - some to find more stable and relevant bodies of Christians with which to fellowship and worship, and sadly, some have left the church completely, only to be embittered from living in an embattled atmosphere.

I found Christ in this church. He became real to me in life-changing ways. I found my wife there; our children were born during those years, and despite much of what happened, discovered that God loves me just as I am, but loves me too much to let me stay that way.
I'm concerned about this congregation. While other churches in the area have grown, thrived, and moved ahead, this one pretty much stays the same. That, too, is pathetic. I hope the trend can change.

Several years ago we returned there for the funeral of a relative of my wife's. One of the people we knew from the very early days came up to me and asked how things were going. "Fine," I replied genuinely. "We're doing great. We've got a blessed life, our children are grown and love Christ, and we have a tremendous church family." When I told her we were attending a more "nominal" church in town she sort of paled. "Really. . . you left here, you're not attending this church anymore?" "No," I contunued, "we've not been a part of this congregation since the late 1980's." "How could you leave here for a church like that?" she queried.

It wasn't a matter of how I could leave the church; it was a decision made after a lot of discussion, thought, and prayer. We left because our lives needed a re-definition of sorts, a revival that just wasn't happening there. How could I leave? Simple - how could I not?

Thriller 25

2008-02-28T10:40:00.000-08:00

"Thriller" is 25 years old - a quarter of a century.

It's the biggest selling record of all time - over 52 million units; records, cassettes, some music-club generated 8-tracks even, a now, compact disc and digital downloads.

The only other amazing thing is no one these days admits they ever bought one. People are going to sneak into the big box stores late at night or early in the morning for the 25th anniversary commemorative release when they think no one is looking.

Why?

Who knows?

"Thriller" has held its own over the years - Michael Jackson's personal eccentricity aside, this is a masterfully crafted piece of music - a 1980s memorial that is going to be around for awhile. Recommended listening; a lot of fun to experience again, and the short films included on DVD ("Beat It," "Billie Jean," and the full length "Thriller") and a few bonus music tracks make this a wise buy. What are you waiting for?

Happy Birthday Ghost Story

2008-02-23T09:30:00.000-08:00

This morning I started reading Peter Straub's 1979 psycho-thriller "Ghost Story."

The movie, starring Fred Astaire, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., and Melvyn Douglas was to say the very least, frightening. It sort of put me in the mood of ghosts. No, I'm not looking for any. I have had enough of them to deal with in my own life, and because today is my birthday they come back in average numbers to remind me (as if I needed it) of stuff, things I don't really even like to think about.

My existence is a reminder that something went terribly wrong in my family. I am the product of something I don't understand, and certain members of my mother's family never seemed to want me around too much. Or was it I just thought that and conjured up every slight that came my way? I have been told that things would have been better had I not been born, a cousin once reminded me that I was trouble from the word go, and I can never remember getting a birthday card or Christmas present from my aunt who always seemed to be an old woman. Like the rest of the folks in my mother's family, they worked hard, lived through a Depression, a World War, and the 1950s. Perhaps a little respect is due here.

It's a funny feeling when you sense that you're not really wanted; on the top of family gatherings are the greetings of warmth and welcome, These many years later it felt like window dressing. Maybe I'm a really a ghost, another being from the past that sits in a chair, says nothing, but points accusing fingers at family members and screams, "I'm here to remind you of things that have happened. If it wasn't for me, maybe everyone would be a little happier, you could actually live in the I love Lucy world it's easy to retreat to when issues get a little hot on the table.

Perhaps I should not have been, but I am.

Life hasn't been bad - I have a wonderful wife, children I am proud of, interests, passions, and people. God says I'm OK the way I am but loves me too much to leave me that way, so He's working on me.

Me, a ghost?

Hardly.

To Steven, A Victim

2008-02-21T08:23:00.000-08:00

Yesterday while under the influence of some kind of sudden yet saddened creativity, I composed something of a short eulogy for NIU gunman Steven Kazmierczak. Okay, I know, he doesn't probably deserve it. But, I believe that underneath all the hostility was a human being. Not knowing what pushed him over the edge and drove him to DeKalb and to Cole Hall with all that firepower makes us that much more curious to figure out what happened. I heard on the news a couple nights ago that no funeral services were scheduled for him. His body was removed to an Elk Grove Village funeral home, cremated, and that's pretty much the end of it.

I'm not hear to minimize what he did. He had no value for the lives he took, the NIU community, the families of those who were killed or injured, or for that matter, the rest of society. It was a senseless and tragic act and no one even marginally connected with the school or the student body, the victims, the survivors, is ever going to forget what happened on February 14. Nor am I hear to offer advice about what should have/could have/would have been done if we'd have known whatever or saw some obvious signs that something wasn't connecting with Steven. He was a human being. I'm like everyone else: I want to know what happened.

Johnny Cash Unchained

2008-01-28T11:56:00.000-08:00

If you haven't heard Johnny Cash "Unchained," you're missing something singular. It's part of the American Recordings discs, and if you don't have it, finish reading this blog, rush out and get it. Not a bad track to be found. Especially cool is the now-come-to-fruition completion of "Mean Eyed Cat," that never really was really finished, according to Cash. It needed something, he said, and after it had hung around for about forty years, he completed it. Wow.

What I'm Listening to and Why

2008-01-28T11:46:00.000-08:00

Listening: An assortment of original pressing 45s on an antique RCA Victor record player - see my blog of Summer, 2007 concerning this piece of antiquity that I paid $85.00 for and ended up soaking another almost$175.00 into before it actually worked - glad I did, though. It's turned out to be quite the conversation piece. At least I like to talk about it because no one else has seen it or cares that I have it. Records slapping onto the turntable in the last few minutes:

"All of My Life," by Lesley Gore
"All In the Game," by Tommy Edwards
"I'm Not Afraid," by Ricky Nelson
"Twilight Time" by the Platters

I'm not writing about anything in particular todayso maybe this is the time to have a little go at the political scene.

President Bush is giving the State of Union Address this evening ("State of the Legacy," says Google); I'm wondering what he's going to have to say. According to Good Morning America the economny is heavy on his mind, followed quickly by Iraq. What else he's going to say is up for grabs, but I know it's going to be couched in terms that make him sound much better than he probably is. That's the state of politics, however. Tell them what you think they'll believe, what they want to hear and hit as more or less close to the truth as you can. Leave the rest for them to ponder.

"Alley Cat," by Bent Fabric just dropped onto the stack. Remember that song? No, of course you don't. . . .

Thoughts on Love

2008-01-22T05:35:00.000-08:00

Listening: Johnny Cash "Unearthed," Disc Four, "My Mother's Hymnbook"

"Love makes your soul crawl out from its' hiding place. . . ."

-Quoted

Discussion Clutters: The 60s

2008-01-19T06:30:00.000-08:00

Currently listening: a collection from the somewhat offbeat 1960s vocal group "Harper's Bizarre" that I legally downloaded and burned from I-Tunes. Don't even think for a minute I scarfed this stuff for free. They had a huge hit with Simon and Garfunkel's "59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy).

My at-work friend Steve used to be a pastor. He now drives a fork truck on the night crew in the plant where I have worked for almost 35 years. No, I am not thinking, even remotely, of retiring yet. Not when I can have passionate conversations about what came down in the 1960s. Actually, I'm surprised at how carried away I get with this topic and anyone listening from a distance would tend to think I am either a radical now or a throw-back to four decades ago. Neither is true. Actually, I think my world view has evened itself out. I have an appreciation for what has been, where I'm at, and where I'm going in the future. I'm at peace with myself, basically like myself, and everyone else. I can't think of anyone I dislike.

Let's move on. In this case, it means a bit of a reversal - to the mid-1960s.

What did my generation have going for it forty years ago? I've been thinking about this a lot.

We had passion and sensed the need for change. Some folks think that the Beatles came along and challenged conventional thinking, espeically after "Magical Mystery Tour," and "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band," but it seems to me that the seeds for questioning just about everything came years before that. After President Kennedy was gunned down in Dallas, there was an overall sense that things weren't as innocent and homey as we were led to believe on situation comedies of the day. Wise parents, obedient children, clean living rooms and kitchens were simply the brainchild of network set decorators. Harriet Nelson may have marched to the beat of her husband Ozzie's drum Friday nights on 1950s and early 1960s television, but the reality was more stark. With Kennedy's death and the farce of the Warren Commission stinking like a run down skunk in the middle of an interstate highway, young people and their parents clashed. Ideas, modes of dress, what was acceptable now open to question; the whole gamut came into the social crossfire. Dickens said it best. "It was the best of times, the worst of times."

Young people wanted nothing to do with a war in southeast Asia that, like its contemporary counterpart in Iraq, was unwinnable. We were fighting the "godless communists," (gotta love that phrase) and if one country, fell, what was to stop another from toppling like the next domino? Hence, the "domino theory," if it happens one place it's bound to happen in another place - or some such nonsense. I've often mused that communism may have been better than the carnage the war left, but that idea wasn't on the table. Credit Robert McNamara, Secretary of Defense under Lyndon Johnson, for having the guts to admit thirty years after the fact that we were wrong to get involved in that whole mess from the get-go. But, you know how it goes: proverbial hindsight is 20/20, foresight is -20 in both eyes.

We had passion, but we needed a plan: we knew what we wanted, an end to war; peace, equality, the rest of it, but I'm not so sure we had a method to work it all out. It was an ideal that wasn't thought out. Abbie Hoffman, David Dellinger, Jerry Rubin and the Chicago Seven mindset had the right idea in Chicago. The modus operandi, though, was somewhere out floating in Lake Michigan. At least these guys are remembered for their presence.

I'm getting fired up about now - Harper's Bizarre may have to be replaced by Cream or the Doors on the stereo if this keeps up. . . or is it possibly the coffee?

Having passion and a plan means that if many of us were thinking about what we wanted, we might have realized that change takes time. But passion, per se, was running high on both sides of the controversy, on the side of the young as well as the Establishment. Remember those patriotic construction workers in New York that attacked a peaceful anti-war demonstration? It was chaos. What surprises me these days is the apathy on full display on college campuses as an unjust, uncalled for, and totally wasteful revisiting of Vietnam is played out in the Middle East. The finest of our young people are volunteering, with all good intentions and patriotic visions. Many are coming back to a funeral. I never thought I would see the day when patriotism, or whatever it is, could cause young people possessed of promise and ambition to abandon their futures to enlist in a war that can't be won. And what's the plan for Iraq? Are we foolish enough to think the people of that country are going to embrace democracy as we know it? If that's the plan, let's check back in about 2,000 years. The entire region is a hotbed of hatred, violence, and terrorism and has been since before Saul of Tarsus was blinded by a light on the Damascus Road, culminating in one of the most dramatic Christian conversions in recorded history.

Change taking time - that's not what was on the 1960s agenda - we wanted change and we wanted it then; "We want the world and we want it now. . . " (Jim Morrison of the Doors). It didn't happen, but maybe my generation started something. We appraised the values we were raised with, questioned them, and wanted better. Perhaps looking over our shoulders, realizing that the world doesn't always respond as quickly as we think it should, helps us see what was right and wrong with our generation and the upheaval bring about. Maybe, just maybe, that backward glance can help us respond to the present generation, help them make plans for theirs and our future. JFK said it aptly: "We all inhabit the planet and breathe the same air." Why is it so hard to connect the dots?

Refusing To Be Average: Thoughts on Tozer

2008-01-14T06:15:00.000-08:00

I have a couple well worn, aged, read and re-read paperbacks by Christian writer A.W. Tozer - of all the things he's written I guess I get hit square in the eye more by one statement: "Refuse To Be Average" than anything else. I guess that's not such a profound statement after all, but it's got a lot of weight to it. I would love to step out of the confining realm of "average," and actually be someone who's just a slight notch above. I'm not interested in turning water into wine, feeding multitudes with a loaf of bread and some lunch meat (bread and fish have been done already); I just want to be a person who makes a difference to someone. I guess I look to my inspiration Johnny Cash, who was anything but average, but he was un-average in a sort of low-key, inconspicuous way. He went out of his way to help someone, took chances with people no one else would have give a second thought, hence his Columbia Records Folsom Prison and San Quentin recordings of the 196os, and was a sort of Jesus-with-skin-on to the downtrodden, misunderstood, marginalized, the down-and-out. I just want to hit somewhere around that level, be a friend, a better listener, a more sympathetic heart. Let it start today, wherever I'm at, whatever I'm doing, no matter who the person is or whether they got the spot I wanted to park in at Wal-Mart.

January Blues!

2008-01-11T13:25:00.000-08:00

The Big Christmas Letdown has begun. . .

"Holiday Inn" has been shown on television several times. What difference does that make, since you own it on DVD - in glorious black and white. It's now put away with the rest of the Christmas stuff, and you probably jammed it in the box with the decorations, burned out mini-lights you know will not work when you take them out of the box just after Thanksgiving in November later this year. Trust me, that time will be here before you know it. In the meantime, there seems to be an eternity of time between now and then.

If you're like me, you find a certain respite from all society has to offer during the holidays - it's a time to throw off the burden of routine and live a little - you look forward to giving and receiving presents, raising a cup of Christmas cheer (responsibily, I trust). But when the Season passes, it passes and there's more than a little letdown. Routine resumes, the weather continues to be frightful and fires and still delightful if a little lonely. Looking out the window you realize you have at least two months of cabin reclusiveness to deal with. Not a good prospect, I know. If you head out to the mall, you might be tempted to kill that melancholy with purchases you really don't need - things to make you feel better that are only going to make everything a lot worse when the bill arrives - it's over 20% on the unpaid balance, you know.

I've found a lot of solace from the January blues in a good book and couple that with a few good CDs - if you've still got an old record player, dig out some vintage 78s if there are any around - and stack them up on the changer. It'll take you back to a less complicated time (or does it just seem that way?), and for a time those old scratchy records might break the monotony while making January's dog days move a little more quickly by.

That's a real 78rpm record in the photo above - I know the technology is outdated, but what goes around, comes around, and eventually there's going to be a renewed interested in those old records - basically they're a dime a dozen for the time being - they sound old because they are old, but that ancient sound and scratchiness is part of the charm.

Inspiration, Where For Art Thou?

2008-01-11T05:22:00.000-08:00

I get myself in quite a lather from time to time about inspiration, or the lack thereof. If I need a kick in the inspirational rear end, I listen to Johnny Cash. If he doesn't inspired you to attempt something, I don't know what will. I guess it's just his attitude - it's pretty laid back; he picked up on an idea and ran with it. This late and great country music icon crossed a lot of aesthetic boundaries well. He variously recorded with Bono, Trent Reznor, Fiona Apple, Lindsay Buckingham, and his work with the Highwaymen is classic. No wonder I get inspired. Listen to "Cash Unearthed," a 5-disc work chornicling some then-unreleased outtakes and more from the American Recordings sessions. His acoustic guitar and vocals are the essence of the sublime. This set may set you back some dollars, but it's money well spent. I'd rather have better stuff in my collection than a hodge podge of junk any day. Junk this ain't.

In that regard, I have a recommendation today for anyone struggling with the inspiration flow; for that person who is trying to put concise words and thoughts down either on paper or in cybserspace - get your inspiration from the Masters - those persons whose work motivates you to get out of a chair and get busy - no, you don't have to be that person, you don't have to imitate everything they do - just do what you do pushed along by individualism realizing that what you do is unique, your form of artistic expression be it music, writing; choose your passion and find someone doing it. What is it they do and why do they do it they way they do? What do you want to do and how will you present your particular passion?

Listening to Cash last night before retiring sort of mellowed the day out and reaffirmed my passion - it put some things in perspective, a rather "holy" one at that as I listened to some old hymns of the church as only Cash in his final days could render them - honestly. And that listening caused me to settle myself, focus, and go from there. Communicating ideas, not neceessarily "truth" in the strictest sense of the word, is what I like to do best. A challenge to conventional thinking, not converting someone to see it my way, is always my first pick of things to do. In doing so I might see or at least consider something that previously just sort of went in one ear and out the other. In short, I might see life from another vantage place.

Christmas Eve

2007-12-24T09:15:00.000-08:00

Whatever else may be going on your life should pale right now by comparison - it's Christmas Eve - if you're reading this, your far from the maddening crowd at the big block store, the mall, or not driving around Wal-Mart trying to find a place to park. I hope your shopping is done. If so, great; if not, you've only yourself to blame - go find a quiet spot in your house and think about the Reason for the Season. Contemplate wonder and miracles, and be thankful that underneath the glitter and glow of all things bought and paid for with 22% interest compounded plastic, the greatest gift is just a prayer away. It's a quiet thing, this thing called Grace. We don't deserve and yet we're invited to partake of it. Merry Christmas!

Memories from the 60th Floor Remixed or: People who are the sprinkles on the cookies of life or the frosting on a Krispy Creme donut

2007-12-05T09:39:00.000-08:00

A little over a year ago, I shared some memories from the 60th floor of Chicago's magnificent Marina City, known to some as the "corncobs." You can read the whole episode yourself if you go back to May of 2006 on this blog site.

I never thought I would ever return unless I knew someone who lived there, and that was pretty much a no-go. I even thought at one time it would be neat to just be walking through the lobby with a curious, in-awe look on my face that would attract the curiosity of a resident who would say, "Well, would you like to see the view again from the 60th floor?"

Conventional wisdom said that wasn't going to happen.

But it did - and I owe at least a little of this good fortune to my good friend Eric, who like me, likes to take pictures of trains which he emails to everyone that he knows who likes trains. That's how we met - on an online railroad enthusiasts' discussion thread. I responded to something he left, he responded to me, and the rest , well, you know how it goes. I call him my sorta-kinda nephew. Sorta kinda or not, he's a good luck charm - when we're together something extraordinary takes place.

Eric and I traveled to Chicago to see a few downtown sites, some of the places that were really important to me over my growing-up years that I couldn't resist sharing. Marina City is one of those places.

We're walking through the building's lobby after blitzing through Macy's Department Store and ran into but a broker for Marina City Real Estate. His name is Mike. Eric thinks he noticed my camera and might have thought we were tourists and just curious about the building, both of which were more or less true. Mike hands me a card announcing a website called http://www.marinacityonline.com/. All kinds of neat stuff about the building can be found there (if I can ever get past the home page).

While talking with Mike, I get nostalgic and chat him up about going up on the roof in 1969 when my hair was brown and I cavorted around the loop in a pair of brown plaid bermuda shorts. I share my memories of the ABC television masts up there and the light show they put on for downtown Chicago. Our new friend dons the role of the gracious tour guide and asks us if we'd like to see the roof. My heart goes into my throat and I cannot believe this is happening. But then I think of the biting cold weather. . .what if I should get blown over the rail and fall through the ceiling of the House of Blues? How will Eric get back to the Metra station?. . .what if our tour guide isn't really a tour guide but a felon who is going to hold Eric and I up there for ransom? Eric reminds me we have cell phones; while we try to out run our captor as in a Mack Sennett comedy chase we can call for help on our cell phones. Collecting common sense, I decide that nothing ventured is nothing gained; let's go for it. Up we shoot to the 61st floor only to find the outer door locked.

I whip out my cell phone, activate the camera, and shoot a photo through the glass - what a view to send to my wife and our kids! I then get ouy my regular camera and shoot some scenes looking northwest and north - how great is this? Mike tries the door again, no luck, it's locked. We'll be back next spring. At least I know I'm not going to fall to my death from the roof today.

He invites Eric and I down to the 5st floor to see his residence. The view overlooking the Chicago River and Wacker Drive looks and feels as good as it did in 1968. The sense of wonderment never dies, even if the hair follicles start loosening up and the mane fades from brown to gray. This is a kind of God-moment for me. Okay, email me and tell me how twisted that sounds.

Mike is a real estate broker for Marina City and he's paid to do this kind of promotion. I understand that point, but let me counter it by saying that I wasn't exactly dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit with a matching pair of Florsheim's making me reek of urban sophistication. Both Eric and I were dressed for the day in sweater and jeans. A trip to wander downtown stores doesn't usually call for a men's haberdasher to outfit and I felt comfortably inconspicuous. So I'm pretty sure Mike didn't think I was the next client to buy a prime view on the 59th floor.

Mike is one of the people that are like sprinkles on sugar cookies, the glaze on a Krispy Creme donut, the nice guy who is genuinely friendly, open, and in our case, accomodating. If I lived in the towers, I'd be the same way.

He's that person and I'm thankful he came our way - thanks, Mike, for the tour, the hospitality, and allowing us to see the view just as the first snow storm of 2007 got underway before we made our way back to the train.

Now, if we can only find that roof door unlocked next time. . . .

Dumb Blog

2007-11-08T17:14:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's just how I perceive things, but the last blog about the RCA record player sort of tops it in the rewards department for dumb things said on this forum - well, maybe not the whole thing, but I didn't exactly wrap it up with a snappy ending or pithy moral, did I???

The RCA Record Player Story

2007-11-03T06:54:00.000-07:00

It sure is funny how things get away from you, mostly time.

Back in the 70s I picked up an old RCA Victor 45 rpm record player at a garage sale - it would play a while, static and feedback would invade the speakers, and whatever you happened to be listening to was lost to then 25-year old technology. Rather than having the thing fixed, I tossed it (or did I give it away???). Memories fade - at any rate, out in went along with a few 45s that really didn't make any difference to me one way or the other.

Last year, in a fit of 1950s nostalgia, I went looking for one - didn't happen - these things were getting in demand again and I didn't want to shell out the cash to get something I thought might sit around gathering fodder for a can of Pledge furniture polish. Well, guess what happened?

I found one on an online auction site, and having a few bucks to spend decided to give it a go, regardless of the 24 other bidders who had driven the price up to about $69, which isn't all that much when you consider these things can fetch three or four hundred dollars. I also had one hour and 30 minutes to make my move - a great idea was hatched and I waited until one minute before the auction closed. . .it paid off and I was the proud owner of a 1950s era RCA Victor fully automatic record player. When it arrived, as I suspected, it needed some attention - it didn't have any sound and there were some issues with the reject cycle. Least of all was the electrical cord - it was frayed after many years of (dis)use and needed replaced. So, off to the audio and video specialist 25 miles away where it languished for three months while parts were tracked down, shipped, and eventually replaced. Okay, this record player doesn't have stereo soound, and these original pressing records have had some wear, but then, they're 50 years old, some older. So, needless to say I was prepared for some the effects of some wear. What a conversation piece - photos leave a lot to the imagination, but here it is in all its glory, providing some musical backdrop to our home. It was worth the wait and worth the investment.

Wal-Mart Bags

2007-08-06T14:13:00.001-07:00

Would someone please tell me what it is with old people and Wal-Mart bags? Why the heck do they save them? I know a person who had over ten years of them socked away in 40-gallon trash bags in a storage shed. Is this the tendency of a generation that went through a Depression that feels like stockpiling these things represents a refusal to throw anything away ("we might use them someday"), or the sign of a psychosis deep, dark, and sinister?

JFK: A Theory

2007-06-01T05:31:00.000-07:00

A tad more bizzare than the rest. but here is one college sophomore's take on who shot JFK: "Chuck Norris traveled back in time at the first shot and caught all the bullets in his beard. . .Kennedy's head exploded in amazement. . ."

Innocent?

2007-05-25T08:47:00.000-07:00

"My son did not shoot President Kennedy - if he did, he would have told me so. . "

-Marguerite Oswald, mother of alledged Kennedy assassin Lee Harvey Oswald

Incompetent

2007-05-24T10:06:00.000-07:00

Food for thought:

"I know I'm incompetent; there's nothing wrong with being incompetent, you don't have to do as much."

Convicted mass murder Charles Manson to NBC Reporter Heidi Schulman

Politics, Jesus, and Me

2007-05-24T07:59:00.000-07:00

Don't ask why I changed the font color - I don't know myself, but I thought it might be something of a change after all this green - it's not easy being green - ask Kermit the Frog. . . .

The least of this morning's felonies is that while writing this (I'm an evangelical Christian) I am listening to Led Zeppelin, the first studio album, you know, the one with the recreation of the Hindenburg disaster on the cover. It's a classic cover, and I've seen framed repros fetching several hundred dollars. The music on the disc is timeless and yet gets called demonic by the Reactionary Right. I don't get it - but maybe I do. That's another conversation for another blog - maybe I'll upload the cover image to this blog to make it appear more artsy and interesting.

Topic of focus today: Politics, Jesus, and Me - in other words, I'm ranting about the political scene, Jesus (Yes, Him), and my relationship to both.

Politics - keep it out of the church. If you're going to vote, do so by the convictions and persuasions of your own mind, and whatever you do, don't tell anyone about it, unless of course the person you tell is a trusted and true friend, one that doesn't think that godlessness and the Democratic Party are synonomous. Author David Kuo ("Tempting Faith: An Inside Story of Political Seduction") referenced a quote in this latest book that Christians could be Democrats, which ran counter to the belief that Democrats are liberal, tree-huggers, pro-abortion, etc., etc., ad nauseum. Wonder of wonders, Democrats can be Christians which is wonderful news to the present writer who has endured at least two decades of being told that God is a Republican. If so, I would like to make my views on the Iraq War a matter of earnest prayer. Personally, I think God is bipartisan, but that's what I get for thinking.

Vote, then. If you've examined the issues and feel your vote is a wasted vote, stay away from the balloting box and protest in absentia. There's nothing wrong with that, and it beats the heck out of choosing the lesser of two evils.

Believe half of what you hear and less of what you read. Both sides of the issues have ther spokespersons. Get informed. Stay with the issues and read between the proverbial lines. Buy a few books and watch the 5:30 P.M. news. Learn to think outside the parameters of special interest groups, the Sunday morning talking heads, and Nightline (but watch them all). Check out how you feel about all of it and perhaps go with you gut instincts. Take no one's word as authority for anything, especially mine. I am one person with one opinion. I took me a few years to discover that despite my passion, I am still just that: one opinion and one only. The world has many and will continue to produce opinion after opinion, so don't get too snooty about what you believe.

Jesus - now we bring a major player into the discussion.

I don't think it matters any to Jesus how you vote or whether you swear alliance to the Republican or Democratic Party. What he wants is your heart, not your vote. He wants compassion instead of political passion and wants 100% of me involved in the process of making the world a better place. And He wants you as well. We can't legislate this stuff from some stuffy, smoke-filled room (I don't think it's smoke filled anymore with the anti-smoking lobby hard at work, thankfully) in Washingnton. It has to come from the heart. Change the heart, change the mind, and you might just accidentally change the action. That's where all of us fit in, you and me.

Politics, well, I don't think that matters as much as Jesus. When He does the changing, people change, and when people change, society changes. It's not a quick fix - we got ourselves into this mess and it's going to take each of us to get us out of it. As for me, well, time for another cup of coffee.

Is Anyone Out There?

2007-05-24T07:58:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder if anyone out there reads any of this stuff - could one of those anyone's please let me know?

Friends

2007-05-03T14:52:00.000-07:00

Spring is in the air. . .is that a phrase corny or what?

Let's see - how creative can I be describing the newness of the season?

I've got. . ."the newness of the season smells good". . .

Nope, won't do; maybe the season doesnt't smell so good downwind from a hog farm.

Okay, it's a great day to be outside doing something; the grass isn't just green, it's real green and beautiful and I'm having a good day. A good, hot cup of coffee started my day at 5:15 along with the writings of one of my favorite authors, Philip Yancey ("Prayer: Does It Make A Difference?"). I opened the front door just a tad, the freshness of the chill of a new day worked its way through the screen and birds outside were rivaling the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. No matter what else happens to them today, they're happy and don't mind letting the rest of the slumbering neighborhood know it. Three rabbits invaded the area around one of the bushes seeking breakfast, making unnecessary any weed eating this week. It's a season of newness, color, optimism, music, and the return of leisurely days. Oh yes, I can put the snow shovel away until next winter. It's a good life.

And it's made better with friends - went out to lunch with a pal today; we got tired of the crowded restaurant and came back to my place and sat in conversation. He kicked off his shoes, threw his feet up on the couch, made himself at home and shared with his views on the culture and values of the 1950s - a decade he missed thirty years too late. It was good to hear his perspective - he's got well developed insights and I respect his point of view. He's proof that youth is not wasted on the young.

Happy Spring!

Rare Batch o' Satch

2007-04-22T18:25:00.000-07:00

This is a hard to find Louis Armstrong LP that I purchased in 1968, long after it had left the pop charts - the title track was a No. 1 hit on WLS-890 AM in Chicago, surpassing the Beatles in 1964 - believe it or not. Hearing it again takes me back to the days of the late 1960s when life and music wasn't as complicated. It just didn't get much better than this!

The Inner Sleeve

2007-04-16T05:59:00.000-07:00

You guys that are hooked up to IPods, MP3 players, ITunes, CD players, and like technology cannot appreciate the vinyl record inner sleeve. It's a rare piece of musical Americana that was sadly neglected in its day. In these retro times, though, it's enjoyed something of a macabre comeback. There are a few CD reissues that are encased in LP-look alike covers, and even fewer still are the LP "jackets" that have an protective inner sleeve that has the original artwork included. Most notable of this strata is The Doors Original Studio Recordings (Elektra) that take you back to the 1960s in true aesthetic style. If you buy them for nothing other that this exoctica, you'll not be disappointed.

I'm not really here to proclaim the virtue of the inner sleeve as much as I am the analogy this piece of paper brings to a discussion of humanity. People are somewhat like phonograph records (CDs if you will, or even an MP3 if that association is a little easier). They have something to say if we take the time to listen - there's the crunch - taking the time to listen, to get in the groove (no pun intended) and hear what's being sung, played, or said. The Inner Sleeve, then is like what's really inside the human spirit, it's a encasement of the spirit and usually there's something significant there.

Vinyl record inner sleeves usually contained photos of other albums available from either the distributing record company, or some technical information about how that company records and manufactures its product. Columbia Records did the best job of this illustration, even including photos of a line of trendy console stereos and of course the warning that a worn or damaged needle could permamently wreck the recorded work. Inspect and change them often.

The inner sleeve above is from the Mercury Record Corporation, who seemed to have some rather colorful and eye catching cover art sleeve work. But like a lot of things back in the day, it got ignored, torn up in the haste of getting to the record which was never handled correctly and consequently smudged and later scratched up in use (though "nonbreakable"). I guess everyone was in too much of a hurry to pay attention to it. More is the loss. There were some pretty good albums to buy back then, and most of us let that information slip through our fingers.

The spirit of man is like that inner sleeve - it has something vital to say - trouble is we're too busy to pay attention. Maybe we could slow the pace of living down, give someone an ear to see and and listen to what's on their sleeve. I think we'd all be better for it; to spend time outside of ourselves and what we think is important. What do you think?

What's Up With The Guy in Row 15C?

2007-03-30T13:13:00.000-07:00

I received an email this week from my good friend Scott.

Scott's the same age as my son and both of them have similar characteristics, two of them being a reserved outspokenness, more common sense than I ever had at that age, and a real desire to get to the heart of whatever issue they may have on their plate at whatever given moment. Neither of them are satisfied with easy answers and keep digging until they discover the truth. I'm like these two in some of those regards. I'm sometimes content to let the real truth of the matter be a matter of continual quest, weighing lots of things before I say I have something figured out. Scott and my son arrive at answers more quickly than I do and the more I'm around them I wonder if it's just an age thing. They both think quicker than I do probably because they're younger. Oh well, on with the story.

When Scott (not his real name by the way) comes home from school on break for the holidays, we usually get together over a pattie melt (him) and a grilled chicken sandwich (me) at a well established eatery here in town. I let the cole slaw pass and head for the cottage cheese, though. Calcium, you know.

We used to do these informal luncheon meetings at the upscale bagel shop here in town. Now, there's an idea: an upscale bagel shop (they have gourmet coffee, too). Actually, they have nothing anymore, having closed up shop last year. But, Scott and I are hopeful that someday they'll re-open; we have a table in a corner with a glass top and high counter chairs where we sit and discuss whatever happens to be left on our plate after the rest of the dishes are cleared away and we refill (for free) his water and my diet soda. We talk his academic year to date, politics, candidates running for office (or those who are thinking about it), Vietnam, Iraq, and guy stuff.

Oh, the email. . . .

He mentioned something in his note that sort of took me by surprise: he's just a little afraid of flying. I would never have guessed this, and I later while shaving I thought that since we've talked about just everything we had covered this at one time or another. I guess not. When it comes to air travel, I could imagine Scott just sauntering down the jet way, finding his seat, stowing his carry-on in the bin above, settling down, and napping en route. Not the case.

He's just like me - we tremble a little during take off but when crusing altitude is reached the beverage cart comes down the aisle with all the soft drinks and water you can drink for free and we're OK - for the most part. It helps me to look out the window and not wonder what the pilot is doing or why the plane is making a southerly, westerly, or whatever-the-direction turn. I don't look at the wings and I do not want to listen to transmissions from the cockpit with airline supplied headphones. It's neat to look out and wonder how many Wal-Marts you fly over, how many folks below are mowing their yards, going to school, or painting their bathrooms. In one trip you can fly over dozens of Culver's, Menard's (real men hang out there), Lowe's (the rest of the real men are there with their wives picking out paint and wallpaper); mail is being delivered, cars are being washed, and diapers being changed. And someone is laying in a hammock 30,000 feet below looking up and wondering where the plane I'm flying in is headed.

That part of Scott's life was a mystery to me until this week, and to tell you the truth, I'm glad he shared it. I guess it lets me know that all of us are struggling with something, some vexatious something that we know is more of an annoyance than anything else. Still, we find ourselves bedeviled with our humanity, at a loss to conquer all this stuff. Matter of fact, Scott said something along those lines a few sentences later, and it helped me deal with my phobia in a new way. For me, it's a control issue. For two hours I'm out of control of where I'm going, trusting someone I don't know from Colonel Sanders to take me to a destination I paid a hundred and something dollars to go to. I guess that's the essence of faith, whether we're flying or walking the earth below, trusting God to take us to an eventual destination we've never seen but believe exists.

Others are dealing with stuff as well. I'm looking around the plane wondering about the lady in 12A - she sits there reading the paper, I wonder if she had a fight with her husband this morning. What's her story? How about the businessman in first class 5B nursing a drink while going over the contents of an over-priced leather binder. What are his issues? Does he want to be on this flight to an appointment or home with the kids, or maybe raking the yard? How about the guy in row 15C? He keeps looking out the window, trying to peer straight down to see what he can see. I wonder if he's scared to death or glad to be flying? The pilot announced a few minutes ago that we were starting our slow descent into the city. Maybe he'll feel better when the plane is locked in final approach. Maybe he's scared to death to think about landing; are the engines going to reverse in time to keep the plane from crashing through a fence and into the parking lot of 31 Flavors?

We've all got a story, a tale to tell, problems to be resolved, and inner conflicts that aren't soothed with Haggen Daaz or Starbucks. But we do have each other and the familiarity and blessing of friendship. It's great to tell someone, "hey, this is my struggle, what do you think about it?"

Thanks, Scott, for sharing your journey. Next time you're home, let's wear our cowboy boots when we go for lunch. Maybe someone will think we're real kick-butt dudes and not wonder if we're afraid to fly.

A Lotta Cash

2007-03-30T12:55:00.000-07:00

That's a lotta Cash in that photo. . .it's a collection of some of the very best the Legendary Man In Black has ever done. I like to think that whatever Cash collection I've got on the stereo is the best, since I don't think he ever made a bad record. I must confess some of the very early Sun waxings probably left something to be desired by today's standards, but they seemed to lay the groundwork for what was coming - simple, uncomplicated music that has a like message. It's music for the masses, the ultimate for those reject a lot of complexity in life and songs. He said what he meant and meant what he said, and captured several generations of respect for the great body of material he produced.

The Folsom Prison and San Quentin albums were more than just concerts that were captured on tape and released. He was affirming those inmates and stating through presence and song that each of them mattered. It was Billy Graham who told Cash to keep doing what he did best - singing to people and reaching out where others might not take opportunity to go. Where others may have seen a sea of wasted humanity, he saw a bunch of guys that needed a song. Sounds almost like a God thing, huh?

The Captain and the Caveman

2007-03-21T07:07:00.000-07:00

Caveman lived near the sea from time to time.

He came to the cave to get away from the press of people he found every day. He couldn't live here all the time, but retreated inside when things got too much to handle. It was comfortable and warm. He started bringing a few books here now and again, and on sunny days would sit near the entrance on a rock and devour poetry, prose, and philosophy. It's a world no one could penetrate, although cavers did stop from time to time to explore the inner regions of Caveman's hiding place. If he was there, he wouldn't let them in, despite the fact that not too far from the mouth of the cave were many natural wonders. A stream ran through it on its sojourn to the sea that made earth music like he had never heard before.

It wasn't his cave to keep people out of, and he was always careful to take anything he brought home with him. He really wanted to put a sign on the front of it and let people know they weren't welcome. His attitude when anyone came around, though, made that sign unnecessary and soon passersby who were familiar with the area simply stayed away and looked for other, more inviting caves along the seashore to venture into. "My world, my cave, and I don't want anyone here," reasoned.

One afternoon in spring, Caveman noticed banks of threatening clouds along the southern horizon. He knew a storm was coming; winds that had only been warm and breezy became chilly and blustery and boats that were hugging the shoreline several hundred yards off started to make for the harbor. The rain came in late afternoon, in torrents, waves became unruly and began dashed the rocks relentlessly nearby. Peering through the gloom of the storm, that he noticed a small rowboat heading toward the pier down the shoreline. In fair weather, the harbor and the pier wasn't a problem to get to from the ocean. In this wind and rain, it was impossible. Though Caveman didn't anyone around, he felt a little sorry for the captain of the tiny craft, picked up a lantern, and signalled for the rower to head toward the safety of the cave. The strong arms of the captain had to be just about giving out, thought Caveman. At last he reached the mouth of the cave and Captain tossed anchor overboard, jumped out and waded to the cave entrance.

"I don't have much to offer you," began Caveman with hesitation, "but you're welcome to come in. I've some coffee and you can dry out before continuing on." The Captain beamed his appreciation and the two sat down on rocks near the cave entrance and discussed the storm.

"I have been looking for safe harbor now for a few hours, knowing that bad weather was coming," he began. "Nothing was visible from my boat, but when you shone the light my way, I knew someone cared enough to guide me to shore. If I stayed out there much longer, I'm not sure what would have happened. A guiding light in a storm is a wonderful thing, but you find so few these days."

On and on they talked - of life, of loves, of storms, the sea; Caveman spoke of poetry and great books he had read and took one from his backpack. He handed it to the captain with a smile and told him to take it with him. It was a favorite, but Caveman didn't care. There were others.

Came the night, and the storm's fury became greater. Caveman, sensing himself in the presence of a friend, offered his sleeping bag, meanwhile dozing off in a corner on some blankets he had brought with him the previous day. Not thinking he would sleep a wink, he drifted off quickly to a night of peaceful slumber, waking the next morning just as dawn announced the start of another day. He walked to the entrance of the cave and beheld a cloudless sky. The rain left a lingering fragrance of newness, wildflowers growing near the edge of the water amidst clumps of grass shouted refreshed shades of color. Caveman sat on the rocks and breathed in the moist air and contemplated the events of the past afternoon. Sharing what he had, though not much, had driven desire to remain in the cave away for a while. He wanted to get out, be up and about. His thoughts were interrupted by the captain who was coming out of the cave, ready to depart.

"Going so soon?" asked Caveman.

"Yes, I must be on my way. I've a few miles to cross before I arrive at my cottage down the shore. I want to get yesterday's catch dressed and ready," he replied.

Caveman convinced the captain to stay long enough to share some coffee. He thanked Caveman for hospitality and heart, lumbered to the rowboat, pulled anchor, and gently rowed away on the silent, glassy harbor. In minutes, he had rounded the bend out of sight and the surface of the harbor was again silent. The soft dipping of oars was heard no more.

Caveman had let someone past the entrance of not only his home but his heart. Both had shared their lives, laughter, tales from the sea; tales from the cave. . .

He eventually came away from so much cave dwelling, and remembered the light he had shone across the water to a wayfaring stranger and how he let Captain in - it felt warm and wonderful, and new. Best of all, he wanted to do it again.

The Singer and the Musician

2007-03-15T07:53:00.000-07:00

The Singer is a musician.

He's got the passion and riffs of a John Mayer and the optimism of Sinatra's high-in-the sky apple pie hopes.

"You're going to be hearing a lot from me, soon," he says.

Singer plans to gig it for the summer on whatever he can make in tips in his guitar case and encouragement from passersby like me. I threw leftover change from Starbucks in his case, listened to him for a few minutes and then folded a crisp dollar bill under his cell phone.

"I'm from the 95th and Cicero area here in Chicago," he tells me, adding that this area of North Michigan Avenue is going to be home for spring and summer. Come fall, he's heading to California.

Right now, famous names are within a block or so of this gadabout minstrel: Brooks Brothers, Neiman Marcus, Anne Taylor, Saks Fifth Avenue. They're all here in copper on buildings and etched in glass. They reflect a culture that has arrived (they think they have, anyway) and have disposable money to burn. If Singer/Musician has five dollars tops in his guitar case he's lucky. The world passes him by, a few stopping to listen, the business suits on their way to meetings, and the shoppers on the way to the next store and a name brand bag to carry out the door, the contents charged to a card quietly commanding 20% or more interest on the unpaid balance.

Somehow, with music and a plan, Singer/Musician is faring better than all of them.

Dream Ride

2007-03-05T07:14:00.000-08:00

This 2005 Harley Davidson Road King is the bike I would like to own - it belongs to a co-worker, but he allowed me to photograph it. I would rather do it in blue but he didn't call me up and ask what color I thought his bike should be. All I need is about $18,000 and it's mine. Neat, huh?

Conversations

2007-03-05T07:04:00.000-08:00

If I told you about it, you'd not believe it, but then you might.

My buddy (I'll call him Bob) and I got talking guy stuff last week, for better or worse. We just sort of vented about different stuff, things we'd done, where, when, that sort of thing. I walked away from that one wondering if I should have revealed so much, but then, it was sort of burning in the recesses of my mind for quite some time, so perhaps for one time it was good to get it all of my chest. I'm really antsy for nicer weather to get here; being stuck in the house is getting really old, and maybe with that frustration I decided to open up and let it out. It's kind of like a fantasy island so to speak. Not a place you want to stay all the time, just visit now and then - does that make any sense?

Ironies and Observations

2007-03-05T06:53:00.000-08:00

Currrently listening: Obscure 45s from the ancient Colpix Records label circa late 1950s and 1960s. I promise I'll get current one of these days. If you check out my Xanga blog, you'll discover that I'm a fan of Johnny Cash and John Mayer.

Irony: I read a lot about the virtues of grace, compassion, and unconditional love, but seem to show less of it as a result (at least sometimes anyway). I guess I'm afraid that I might have to step out of a comfort zone. Could be.

Observation: I need to step out of that comfort zone and get with it. This whole buisness of living a Christian life is more than just words on paper that go to the head and give said head lofty ideals and little else. Showing grace, compassion, and unconditional love require action, uncomfortable action at that. I'm working on it, okay?

Explaining Your Sprinkled or Soaked Pants-Urinal Grief

2006-10-15T16:18:00.000-07:00

So here's another dilemma - you sashay into the men's room and use the urinal - doesn't matter which one, any of them will do. . .you flush when finished and much to your surprised there's an air back up in the pipes which douses your pants and shoes with water as it flushes - now, here's the dilemma - you walk out of the restroom to meet your wife and family and friends and you have this more-than-conspicuous drench mark all over the front of your pants - how do you explain that????

Shall We Cry?

2006-10-15T12:20:00.000-07:00

I don't know about anyone else, but from time to time I indulge myself in a good crying session; you know, after things build up and you just can't look up to see bottom and it seems like there's nothing you can really do? Or am I the only one that feels that way? I'd like to hear from someone. . .

The Balcony Vs. The Basement

2006-08-20T08:53:00.000-07:00

This Sunday, today, the Pastor hit me with it - the balcony vs. the basement. I guess it's a place I've toggled between for many years, too many in fact.

At times I want to be a balcony person, that individual who is there to encourage, to help, to cheer on, to comfort; to be the person that no one else in that person's life is or is capable of being. Today I have had to admit I could care less. In reality, I do care, I care very much indeed. It's just that every once in a while I get this wild hair that screams at me to back down, relent, avoid people, leave them alone because they really don't care at all for me. The amazing thing is I find myself actually believing this is true, acting on it, relinquishing my emotional holds to people, and fleeing them as I would a man running for his life out of a burning building. I've done it years ago, decided that I was (and continue to be) my world's worst enemy, and that it had to stop. No one loves inconsistency in others.

I screw myself; there's no one lying in wait to do it for me. At various times I have enjoyed this here-we-go-round-the-mulberry bush routine, but most of the time I remind myself that this is the most foolishishness. So why do I do it? Why does anyone do it? What makes me or anyone else run from the very people who need us, want us in their lives, and look to us as the other half of a significant friendship, even if they don't call as often as I'd like, to seem always to be busy, or just simply get neglectful? Furnish a few answers to that one, why don't you?

I don't want to be a basement person. That's someone who drags not only themselves but everyone else down with them as well. They're a bane to our existence, and no one wants to be around them. How would you like to be thought of as someone who's more of a pain than a pal?

Pastor hit me with the right message for the right time - could be God is trying to get my attention.

The Phonograph Record - The Dilemma

2006-06-06T12:43:00.000-07:00

I found it at last!

It was an old phonograph record that had a song with a real catchy beat (people these days call it a "hook") that I discovered on an online auction site. To my delight, it wasn't just in good or passable shape, it had never been opened since the date of its manufacure. How lucky can anyone get?

Of course, that depends on your definition of luck and how excited you can get about an ancient, ultra lounge LP that's good for nothing but setting a mood. It might be a mood for dancing, romancing, or just listening to after the rest of the house has gone to bed and you can't sleep.

Since the record was sealed, it wouldn't do me a whole lot of good unless I opened it. And therein lay the dilemma: to open or not to open. I thought about it a day or two, giving my actions careful consideration and looking at all options.

1. Don't open it. So I've invested thirty dollars (six times what it was originally worth in 1966) and have a record occupying a bin. If all I am going to do is look at it, why buy it?

2. Open it. There goes the value of the record (to collectors) who will now get a cut on the price since the seal is broken, if in fact I decide to sell it. But, I'm not going to sell it, I bought it to enjoy, and the only way I'm going to do that is to break the seal.

3. Buy it on CD. Can't do it. It was never released on CD, with the exception of two tracks on a larger boxed compilation. Reissue activities over the past few years have ensured that more obscure recordings are finding their way to sellers' shelves and colectors' libraries, but the minute the recording is brought out on CD, the worth of the original issue is diminished. Again, I'm not selling it ever, so why worry about it? True, I could have a $50 for the record sealed, but then all I have is money which is probably going to be spent on something stupid or a dinner out that is loaded with trans fat, cholesterol, and carbs, which will eventually kill me. Then I never will hear the record and my wife will tote it to a thrift shop. Someone will buy it and use it for a clay pigeon (vinyl records can really fly if thrown correctly). What to do, what to do.

4. Buy another copy of the album - there were several online. But why tie up more money in another copy, have two, play one, while I show off my sealed copy to someone who really isn't a fan of that music or the singer?

5. Enough of this already. I'm going to bravely break the seal, carefully play it, transfer it to CD, throw the disc on the changer some rainy afternoon, and sit down with a cup of coffee and enjoy both.

Who says I can't make decisions?

Note: "Ultra Lounge" used in one of the preceding paragraphs is a marketing term for cheesy music heard mostly in bachelor pads. Guys heavy intro retro will furnish their homes ala Late American Garage Sale with Veg-O-Matics in plain view on the kitchen counter, melmac dinnerware, nine different patterns of silverware (nothing matches), have lamps on with much too big a shade on them, and have a Hi-Fi (record player) in the living room. Think I'm kidding?

Another note: The album at front and center of the above mentioned drama is "Do I Hear A Waltz" by torch singer Jo Stafford who was also a great interpreter of the American Ballad. This was her first release on the Dot label. Kinda classy and colorful logo, no? The album now reposes in a bin (opened) between a limited edition white vinyl pressing of The Beatles' "White Album," and "Shaved Fish" by John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band. There's no method to this madness. . .

Grace Blooms Beneath the Cross

2006-06-06T12:26:00.000-07:00

The blooming roses around our church here in northern Illinois remind me again that not only do the most beautiful flowers thrive beneath well tended soil but that grace, the capacity to love and be loved as only Christ can, also blooms under the well tended soil and shadow of a cross.

Sharing Hurts

2006-06-04T17:50:00.000-07:00

I wish I could do something about the hurts that others experience.

I'd love to take a person's frustrations, worries, and anger and do something about it, but I can't. There's no magic formula that's going to make this stuff go away any more than a similar mystical aura or potion can take away mine. It took a lot of years for me to get this way and chances are it's going to take that many and a lot more to get it all resolved. We're all in the same corner.

I can share in the pain that my friends go through, though. It happened just a while ago.

I was reading over a friend's blog and picked up on the sense of emptiness and frustration he's experienced over the past few years; actually his whole life. I'll call this person Mark.

It's been a rough go for Mark. He's been tossed to the dogs on issues that none of us should have to face, but those choices weren't his and were the consequence of decisions that other people made. Okay, such is life, I know, and it seems to be more and more what our culture is about - someone suffering for the mistakes others make. I could get on a soapbox about this one for quite some time, but I'm going to spare you the irony. I just plain hurt for Mark and want to tell him a few things:

1. The stuff located on either side of the road you're on is not your fault - please don't blame yourself. God created you for a reason and He loves you just the way you are (sorry, Billy Joel, the words just sort of fit in here).

2. Lots of folks love you and see something special in you. I see a person who is sensitive to his feelings, the feelings of others. You express emotions in line and verse and share your heart freely. You make yourself an open book. I like that kind of transparency.

3. Things are going to turn around for you, believe that. Don't convince yourself that because your portion in some ways so far hasn't been all that affirming that it's always going to stay that way. I see God turning your situation around. Put the timetable away and let the train run down the track, and be ready to board when it stops.

4. Go somewhere and tell God how you feel - yes, He cares. Cry awhile. The tears wash not only your eyes, but your understanding as well.

I can't change your life, but God already has. I want to be there for the rebound. For now, let me share your hurt.

A Great American Hero: Johnny Cash

2006-06-01T14:20:00.000-07:00

The soundtrack album of the 20th Fox Johnny Cash biopic "Walk The Line," (Sony/WindUp Records) is great! If you're a Cash fan (I am!) you've seen the movie and probably thought a lot about this true American Legend. His music is timeless, his originality and genuineness the stuff of real Americana, and he's even rubbed musical noses with Bono (U2). I guess that should come as no surprise.

Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon (and others) do a marvelous job with 16 Cash and Carter songs. I'd never listen to anyone else even attempt to do a cover of my favorite "Get Rhythm" from a late 1950s Sun Session (see my previous blog) but this is one magnificent waxing of an old standby. The rest of the disc works equally well and it's worth your money. See the movie if you haven't already and pick up the Authorized Biography by Steve Turner ("The Man Called Cash: The Life, love, and Faith of an American Legend") foreword by Kris Kristofferson. This is one great American Hero. In these recordings and Turner's book you'll see why!

Thanks, Steve H., for putting the bug in my ear about this CD!

What Are Kids Coming to These Days?

2006-06-01T06:43:00.000-07:00

Mood: Optimistic (I try to stay this way)

My generation's parents said it, too: what are kids coming to these days?

One of my classmates, a mother of several children, recently quoted the same line. That's OK, but her credibility was in questions since she partied hearty in her day. Oops, I forgot to remember to forget about that.

My guess is that Generation Y is doing pretty good. If you ask me, they're a lot of more focused, have a deeper appreciation for family, since many come from broken homes and are learning that when push comes to shove, the most important element is the family unit, as dysfunctional and nuts as that unit can be at times.

Generation Y sees the mistakes my generation made, but they have this intrinsic knowledge that says not all the wrongs are going to be made right in the single sweep of social reform. They're focused on long term solutions, working at short term goals to make the bigger picture work. Okay, so Y-er's don't have the luxury of opulent album cover art like it was back in the Day ("Led Zeppelin," "Morrison Hotel," "Sgt. Pepper's") but they're savvy enough to appreciate digitally remastered classic albums with bonus tracks and have thousands of them crammed into the plastic confines of an MP3 player or IPod.

I like this group of young people. They're on a long road, have a tremendous journey in front of them and for the most part know where they're going. It's good they know where they've come from, too.

Thought for the day:

"Get Rhythm, when you get the blues,
come on, get rhythm,
When you get the blues. . . .
"Get a rock and roll feelin' in your bones,
get tapes on your toes and get goin'. . . .
"Get Rhythm, when you get the blues"

Johnny Cash, 1956, B-side of Sun Records single, "I Walk The Line"
Okay, not a very spiritual thought I guess, but it beats the heck out of simmering over past hurts and how frustrated you are over the price of $3.00 a gallon gasoline

Quote from A.W. Tozer

2006-05-23T06:30:00.000-07:00

I have two books from the pen of A.W. Tozer in my library, way down on the bottom shelf with all the heady, high minded stuff (I borrowed those words, "heady," and "high minded" from the King James Version of the Bible; just so you know, we're not supposed to be that way).

Powerful stuff. In one of them is a quote I can't find, but it's been used again and again until its uselfulness has just about run out, but it says a lot if you stop to think about it.

"Refuse To Be Average."

My inspiration to write about this state of being came from my good friend Mat, who sent me a blog that he wrote about Misconceptions. I find that the people who act, talk, and behave in a certain way are much too predictable and represent what I call "average" Christian people. Nothing wrong with being average, but it seems that people who are average tend to be predictable and banal. We need to start thinking outside the hymnal and church bulletin. For those innundated with commercial media, this is the same concept as thinking outside the bun.

I want to step out of the frame of averages and be unexceptional.

I want my attitudes and actions to reflect what Christ would do, not what the average (there's that word again) believer does. That means being open and honest with Christ follower friends, being genuine, loving, compassionate, and grace motivated with people who don't believe, loving them not for whether they agree with me on everything or not, just letting them be who they are, yet trying to bring Christ into their existence to make Him part of their daily reality and walk. I've a lot of work to do to make that happen.

I think I'll start with myself. . . .

Blessings to the following un-average people:

Our Pastors, John and Jim, who love with compassion beyond the necessity of job description

Steve, studying in Germany, who has taught me a lot about grace and challenging accepted notions; he's faithfully emailed me for the last three and a half years from wherever he's been in school. We occupy the same place at the same sandwich place here in town and usually order the same thing each time. Only the topics of conversation change. He's the guy most unlikely to love Harley's, but he does.

Mat - we've done some rail fanning in Indiana and caught a circus train highballing through Napanee. I was able to get some awesome photos from a camera I had never used before. Although his life has not been easy at times, his faith has remainded steadfast.

My wife - she constantly reminds me that if it were not for grace, I would be in as much trouble as the people I tend to get on a soap box about.

Kevin, our son - he tends to be like me in many ways (is that scary or what??) but he's a best friend. We share with each other, he offers a new and interesting perspective and is way out of the "average" box. God's got His hand on him, and there's no telling where he'll be blessing the next person through his gift of grace and musical ability.

Melissa, our daughter - mother of the best and the cutest granddaughter anyone could have. Melissa is like the rest of us, moving more and more toward Christ. She inspires me with her determination.

Van, our son-in-law - why did he ever sell that beautiful Buick Grand Natiional??

Studies In Porcelain

2006-05-21T17:15:00.000-07:00

You might not believe this, but there are guys who keep track of the urinals they use in the various buildings they find themselves in at any given time.

People doing this have too much time on their hands.

I suspect these folks keep track of the source of their junk mail in a college ruled ledger. When the snow flies next winter, they gather their spiral notebooks, pour a cup of coffee and head for the recliner or reading chair to tally up the results. Doubtless they're impressed. If you travel a lot, find yourself in out of the way places (or not so out of the way) this list could be considerable. Take for instance the photo with this blog. Someone snapped it at the Ford Oriental Theatre in downtown Chicago.

I don't keep track of urinal usage since I hate these things from the word go (no pun intended). But, they have become a necessary part of the male existence. If I found myself at the Ford Theatre, I would go for the corner one, about ten minutes after the second act has begun. At least it offers a tad more privacy than the one smack dab in the middle of the room.

Thank Heavens for dividing partitions. At least management has the sense to know that a partition free environments are invitations for guys to try to converse over the sound of incessant flushing and the hand dryers blowing nonstop that sound like an Airbus A320 barreling down a runway for takeoff. And what men's room hasn't been invaded by the sound of some kid screaming in the stall with his dad that he can't get his pants buttoned? Yes, all of these sounds and more could be your portion during your next visit to the men's room.

For most of us, it's quick in, quick out; do what has to be done and bolt.

And there is something to be said about urinals in trains - there aren't any! Finally - a place to go that offers a little home comfort. Wasn't always this way, though.

Some of the old coaches of the Chicago and North Western railroad had no flush plumbing; gravity just sort of did its thing and it all went down to the tracks. It was something of a rush to watch steel ribbons beneath you as you relieved yourself, but you had to brace yourself against one side or other of the restroom or you could find yourself banging your head against the wall in front of you. Other coaches had flush systems and signs warned you not to hit the foot flush pedal while the train was standing in the station. I don't know what Amtrak has, but it might be worth the price of a ticket to and from Chicago just to find out. For a cheaper trip, try the Metra System west line that uses the Union Pacific trackage from Elburn, Illinois, to Chicago. And best of all, if you're eastbound the restroom is in the west end of the car where no one can see where you're going, not that anyone really cares. Check out the hand soap on these commuter trains. It smells good and you should wash your hands after being in there, anyway.

For the guys who encounter someone wanting to be chatty at the urinal, just smile and nod. Make some comment about the Cubs and how you hope they'll do better this season or maybe take their crosstown ball game issues with the White Sox to Jerry Springer. Speculate that you don't think Brett Favre will ever retire from football and that gas is way too expensive.

I was going to say something else, but I've got to go to the bathroom. . .

Walls

2006-05-21T09:50:00.000-07:00

Why do people live behind walls?

God designed us to be people of RELATIONSHIPS. That means we should interact with each other - caring enough to pick up a phone just to visit for a few minutes or maybe leave a message on the machine that says, "Hey, I care about you. We haven't seen each other in quite awhile, we need to do coffee, lunch, something. Let's get together."

How many times have you stared at someone's casket and wished you could have some time to tell that person how much you care about them? When did you last call someone just for the heck of it?

Walls keep us from doing that. We may have spent a long time building them, but they come down a lot easier if we have a desire to step out of the rubble and into the place of relationship God wants us to live in. I'm continually working on tearing mine down. How about you?

Cool Blue Contentment

2006-05-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

Color me content today - visited with my son yesterday on the phone and also did some soul sharing with my friend Mat.

Mat noted that his mood was "Peaceful." I know a lot of people that would love to be able to say the same thing, to know even a few minutes of contentment. Real joy isn't found in having everything go your way, it's based on your relationship with Christ. Know Christ - know peace. No Christ - no peace.

Think about it.

The Da Vinci Code - Just a Thought

2006-05-16T08:19:00.000-07:00

Okay, Dan Brown's book about Jesus being married to Mary Magdalene and having a blood line that extends to today is the proverbial runaway bestseller and the movie's coming out May 19. The plot's not too likely, but some people are eating this thing up. Boycotts of the movie are planned by a lot of well intentioned Christian groups and other over the top detractors are having a fit about it. What they're going to do is anyone's guess, but we've heard from some of them in endless and sometimes mindless Letters To The Editor, rages in chat rooms, blog posts, and chain letter emails (make ten copies, pass them on and be blessed with abundant health for the next ten years). There are books about the Code, explanations for it, and a few unoriginal spinoff themed-tomes on sellers' shelves. Pulp media has tapped into the craze as well.

I look at it this way: it's causing some consternation, but hopefully it provides Christ followers with the opportunity to share their faith and the true essence of who Jesus is.

Read it for the entertainment it is and leave it at that. It's a NOVEL! Like everything else, the new will rub off and the popularity will fade. Jesus is going to be around long after the controversy goes away, so why sweat it?

Speaking of kids, that's Jesus in the photo above, doing what He did best: relating to people. Yes, these were kids, children, those beings that society has told us are better seen and not heard. Jesus didn't feel that way and bid them to come to him. He took the time to love them and invited naysayers who wanted to shoo them away home to back off. "Let them come, and don't keep them from me," he said. Matter of fact, He added that we should have the life approach and faith of children. They don't do a lot of deep thinking; they take what's told them on faith and run with it. Wouldn't it be nice to have a faith like that? I know we have to bring practical realities to the table, but have we tried to deep think ourselves out of the kingdom completely?

Recommended Music - Roy Orbison

2006-05-16T08:13:00.000-07:00

Don't miss this - "The Essential Roy Orbison" - two discs full of Orbisoniana, all the hits; no filler material (Monument/Columbia Legacy). Includes a great duet with Emmylou Harris ("That Loving You Feeling Again") and the great early stuff including my favorite, "Ride Away," from Roy's MGM Records years. I found it at Target for $19.99, five bucks cheaper than a book and music place. Can't pass up a sale! (What do you mean, "Who Is Roy Orbison??")

Religion and Relationship

2006-05-14T19:27:00.000-07:00

The Associate Pastor really dropped a bomb this morning. Well, two of them, actually.

First, he almost toppled off the podium doing the kids' message.

Second, during the sermon, he let all of us have it both barrels, and I think if you would ask him whether or not he intended it that way, he'd say yes.

Out of complacency, into reality is what I call it.

"My religion," he said, "is against my relationship."

Now, think about that one.

Religion - dead, dull, dry, business as usual nothingness that reeks of formality and regimen with not a speck of life in it.

Relationship - that one on one with Christ that takes us out of the abyss of religion and puts us nose to nose (or heart to heart) with Jesus. Oh yes, him. For some of you reading this blog, you're likely thinking that I've lost it; that I'm the original fanatic, that I'm one of those people who vote Republican because certain spokespersons claim that God is conservative. I don't happen to think so, and I have voted Democratic in at least two elections, and that without shame. I'm one of those people that feel more comfortable having a latte at Starbuck's with someone unchurched than sitting in the Fellowship Hall surrounded by my Christian friends. I don't think that God has a problem with me being a Doors fan or a Democrat either, since music and politics aren't what God's about in the first place, but you might have a hard time finding very many people in church pews who share that view.

Relationship with Christ is what I want to develop. I'm not interested in super-spiruality, dancing in the aisles at church, extreme displays of emotion, visions of Armageddon, ad infinium. I just want that relationship with Christ to overshadow each and everything I do and to bring some glory to His Name. Teach me how to live for Christ and leave all the rest of the religious circus out of it.

That's What Friends Are For

2006-05-13T17:50:00.000-07:00

I know - unoriginal title, that's for sure, but it's the end of the day and I'm tired. What might otherwise be inspired isn't right now. Mat is my rail fan friend who inspired and shared some lines about spirituality and the desire to be closer to Christ and with each other, on his blog. He's a real pal and doesn't mind letting me know when things are good or bad. Some people try to make you think that all is well, that frustrations and people never have a way of getting under your skin. Mat doesn't, and that causes me to be more real with myself and others. I'm thankful that people can cause me to grow as a Christ follower, the key word here being genuine.

Thanks, Mat

I Love A Train

2006-05-07T16:02:00.000-07:00

Union Pacific businss train headed out of Clinton, Iowa (Photo by Eric Salter)

Jazz For the End Of The Day

2006-05-07T15:55:00.000-07:00

Good music doesn't go away, it lays low for awhile.

No Count Sarah is a case in point - a magnificent album recorded in 1959. Released on CD in February of 1991. A few printings and then, it was gone. Hard to find, collectors that have one know what it's worth and don't let it slip out of their hands at garage sales, though I'm sure some unsuspecting soul let one get out of the house to find its way to a used CD store. If you can find a copy (even a scratchy vinyl original release) buy it. It's music for the end of the day.

Marina City, Chicago, 1967

2006-05-06T08:24:00.000-07:00

This is Bertrand Goldberg's Marina City (or Towers as some people call it) photographed in 1967. My apologies to whoever took this photo. I would have asked permission to use it, but couldn't find a link to that person.

Marina City was designed to be a self-contained residence with all the amenities, up to and including a laundromat, parking facilities, and a bowling alley. I guess it's still all of that. Pretty trendy place, too - the laundromats now accept the equivalent of an ATM/debit card which beats searching through the pockets of your laundry for quarters to feed the suds beast. You'll notice two big antennas on the west tower - they were put there by WLS-TV Channel 7 and the "7" logo lit up day and night idntifying the antennas' owners. The other mast pulsed like a giant red thermometer in response to atmospheric temperatures. The warmer the temp, the higher the red pulse went. Cool stuff, especially viewed at night. I never got enough of them. When you're a kid, the sense of wonderment is there. Get older, things like that don't make a lot of difference. I'll mature, but I'll be dog-goned if I give up wonderment.

Memories From The 61st Floor

2006-05-05T12:30:00.000-07:00

So where the dickens does time go? I've heard it goes by pretty fast when you're having a good time. . .is life a good time? Considering the alternative, I'm inclined to say Yes.

Go back with me a few years - well, more than a few maybe, but I'll hit the start button on the Way-Back Machine and stop it at, let's see, there it is - 1969. I always called it the Summer of Love and even wrote a magazine article calling it that, but to some, it was 1968. Still others, 1967. Take your pick - find the year you found the most love in it and that's it.

I'm standing on the rooftop of Chicago's Marina City, 61 floors up. It's a warm day; my mom and I are with family friends enjoying a day of sightseeing. The Loop and its architectural icons are spread out in front of me - nothing can mar the pleasantness of the day. The sun is vibrant; you can almost taste the rays. Winds off the lake remind me to hang on to the guard railing around the edge of the roof as I look southward across the city. Many of the buildings taken for granted these days weren't even thought about in 1969; Sears may have had that big old tower at Jackson and Wacker on the drawing board, but they hadn't yet decided where to park the gift shop yet.

It was good to not have to worry about stuff. And I suppose what I encountered in later years would have scared the daylights out of me had I known about it then, but I didn't. Ignorance, it is said, is bliss.

I never dreamed that ten years from that summer afternoon that I would have a three year old running around, riding my back, and playing out in the backyard. That three year old is now a wife and mother with a toddler of her own, soon to be two in August.

Grandparenting, yes, I can deal with that.

By 1981, we had a son. The kid that played with trucks in the sand at the park is within a week of acheiving a Master's Degree in Music Performance. What a blessing both of them have been, each bringing to life their individuality and gifts.

In 1969, looking out over a troubled Chicago (there were no Good Old Days in Chicago*), I'm far removed from even considering the parenting possibility. It just isn't in my vocabulary, but almost three decades later, I'm good with it. Our children have turned out to have full, rich, lives of their own. They're studious and focused, which is more than I ever was at their ages. I might add that a public recognition of my son-in-law is appropriate at this time. So, with all due fanfare, I include accolades to Van - he's a good husband and provider for our daughter and granddaughter and we love him.

There are times I wish I could go back to the Summer of 1969. I've often thought I would have spent more time on the rooftop gazing into the electric blue sky and enjoying the summer haze that settled down on the city like a new, colorful comforter on a bed. I would have listened for the sounds of traffic from the streets, maybe took a few (a FEW?) more photos from the roof and included shots of those big WLS Channel 7 television antennas that lit up day and night and could be seen from just about everywhere in the Loop.

But, I didn't.

Okay, there are a few regrets from that time, but not enough to make a big issue out of. Life viewed from the 60th floor is OK, but sooner or later the elevator takes you back down to street level where live is lived. I share a commonality with others who are raising or have raised their kids and are moving on to the next phase of life, whatever that may be. Life wasn't simpler back then at all - it just seemed that way. And why not enjoy the times - Dex Card, Ron Riley, and Clark Webber were eating up the airwaves on WLS AM 890 with 50,000 watts of sound and a 45 RPM single cost a buck. I'm all for digitally remastering the vintage recordings, but vinyl is still pretty cool and pretty cheap.

It's a good life. My wife, my kids, my granddaughter are all around! It's the place to be. I just wonder what's going on up on that roof, 61 floors above reality, these days.

*- Chicago author and radio personality Studs Terkel authored a series of oral histories titled "Division Street: America" (1967). He talked to all kinds of people about Chicago, life (in and out of the city), war, rumors of the Bomb, high prices, education, working; actually he just let people ramble from one thing to another. A real bit of Americana. Great reading; I have a signed copy. Never once, though, did anyone talk about how peaceful Chicago was in the late-1960s. If you put out of the mind the west side race riots, Chicago '68 and the Democratic National Convention, well, maybe it was peaceful, but the coldness of reality has a way of sneaking up behind you.

The Holt Hotline

2006-05-03T18:25:00.000-07:00

I found out this morning this blog is part of the Holt Hotline, a family website that I've contributed to a time or two - looks like the contributing frequency might be a little more often now that I have discovered an audience willing to sit in front of a computer screen to read these ramblings and rumblings.

To begin with, my wife's mother's maiden name was Holt, so I guess I came by the association honestly. Lonnie "Papa" Holt was like a grandfather I never really experienced, and Grandma ("Aunt Sally" to many) was a full fledged grandmother to me, period. I never knew either of my grandmothers, one had passed away decades before I came along and my paternal grandmother had died many years ago, too. So, when the chance to have grandparents of any kind came along, I jumped into it with both feet. Papa and Grandma were pretty open minded and with it. I'll not forget the time I loaned her a book by atheist Madalyn Murray O'Hair. She sat up almost the entire night reading it and had opinions on everything she read. Papa and Grandma invited us over on Thursday nights to watch "The Waltons," and Papa enjoyed watching Donahue weekday mornings at 11:00 A.M. When I got hooked watching the controversial talk show host, so did they. It was neat to see them with a mental vitality and spirit for life as well as being models of what Christ followers are all about.

Family is family and you never really lose the family dynamic, even when some of the older folks pass from the scene. Somewhere they're waiting for us to join them. Families don't break up - they just relocate for a while.

Friends

2006-04-13T15:09:00.000-07:00

HM is one of my best friends - he invited me over for coffee (see "Introductions") and we spent a while talking about our lives, God, my wife and his ex-wife. Conversation was great and the coffee wasn't too bad either. . .

A Lesson from the Bricks

2006-04-13T12:20:00.000-07:00

My wife's cousin built a decorative wall out of bricks from our old high school that was razed last year. He wanted not only two or three bricks for keepsakes but a whole load to build the rock garden and bordering wall along the front and sides of his property. What someone might have hauled away to the dumpster he made into something beautiful and imaginative. Sort of the thing God does with us - when others are ready to toss us on the scrap heap of uselessness and rejection he takes us, rebuilds and rebirths us in His image.

I'm glad God's creative. . . aren't you?

A Walk In the Greening Neighborhood

2006-04-13T09:51:00.000-07:00

Time for a walk in the greening neighborhood - I'm going to take along the discman and listen to my Horst Jankowski LPs that I transferred from vinyl to CD two years ago. His big instrumental hit of the 1960s was "A Walk in The Black Forest." He never had a hit after that, but made a half dozen or more albums, anyway. Nothing like trying, is there?

Assorted Thoughts and Introduction

2006-04-13T09:23:00.000-07:00

I feel trendy and one with the world of technology and communication today. I have created a blog.

The newspaper gig I was doing for a number of years appears to be over and I'm moving on to other things. That could include this blog where I share with cyberspace the accumulation of what's occupying my gray matter at a given point in time. It typically changes often and I can be moderately peaceful one day and on a soapbox the next. True to my form, however, the paper will call and want me to pursue some project. If that happens, I will let you know. The silence from their end of the computer is deafening. A jangle of the telephone from them would be welcome. As Barbara Streisand sang in 1970, "I Don't Know Where I Stand."

Life is good at this point. I've accumulated the recorded output of the Doors on CD (all of their stuff!) on those retro looking reissues that have the original cover art, label face likenesses on the discs, and even the inner sleeve that came with the vinyl, analog recording. I can now die happy.

The Beatles have released their eight (and likely more to come) original Capitol LPs on CD, in both mono (or high fidelity as we used to call it) and stereo. The accompanying booklets with both reissues contains "rare photos," (I'm getting sick and tired of that term) and some unvital statistics to create needless filler. But, it's all part of the package and I'm not complaining at all.

I'm a music person, like to watch trains pass by (and I photograph them), and I love to meet people. Having stuff around is OK, private ownership is part of the blessing of a good job, but having someone over for coffee is even better. You can share moments of music with them, offer them some flavored creamer for their coffee, or let them see your "rare photos" from the Beatles reissues.

Trains, good music, coffee with friends. . . doesn't get much better than that.

Hmmmm. . . .one complaint/observation. . .why is it I can buy a latte and Krispy Kreme original glazed from a convenience store for $2.00 yet have to pay almost twice that at the airport for just the latte????